


Just a Theory

by TaxicabKanefessions



Category: Discworld - Terry Pratchett
Genre: I Don't Even Know, M/M, crack ship
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-01-02
Updated: 2018-02-23
Packaged: 2019-02-27 10:33:03
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 13
Words: 18,178
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13246371
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TaxicabKanefessions/pseuds/TaxicabKanefessions
Summary: Teatime's resurrection had worked, just not enough to go chase after Susan right away. Or leave the Unseen University at all. And, after discovering a few revelations that are vitally important for the advancement of natural philosophy, that might be ok. Teatime/Stibbons





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> A gift PWP where I found that there was a good plot around the end of chapter 3. If I'd planned it to be a regular for from the beginning the pacing would be different, but ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯.
> 
> So plot stuff really starts up in chapter 4.

Teatime hacked, painfully. It was as if his lungs had forgotten how they were supposed to work. As they ached back to life, he also noted that his spine burned horribly, and that there were a lot of strange textures under him. A lot of them were unpleasantly squishy, actually. And why on Earth was there so much noise?

He creaked his eyes open, only to be greeted by a gigantic pink… Was that a nose? How unfortunate.

His senses slowly came back to him, and he heard something about bright lights and near-death…

Well, that certainly explained it.

Teatime focused on the chandelier above him. It was certainly familiar… He’d seen it in a book once, which one…?

“Uh…” He finally settled on, “This is the Unseen University? And you are all wizards?”

“Now, you just lay still…” One, seemingly in charge, said. It was meant to be an order.

Teatime got up to his elbows. There were far more pressing matters to attended to. “There was a sword,” he said. His tongue felt thick as if it, too, had to remember how it was meant to work.

“Oh, it’s fallen on the floor,” the wizard said, “But it looks as though it’s -Did I do that?”

The table was sliced through, as was every table, cloth, and bit of metal in the way. So at least the sword knew its job. And if that worked again, that meant…

“Looks like a thin blue line in the air…” The wizard said, with almost childlike fascination.

“Excuse me, sir,” Teatime said, voice polite but insistent. He took the sword back in the same way. “I really must be off.” His legs seemed to work well enough, though certainly more sluggish than normal, and he ran from the hall.

Somewhere he heard a “he won’t get far”.

And, as his lungs, legs, and the rest of him remembered that they’d been dead only a moment ago, he had to admit that was certainly accurate.

* * *

The first thing he noticed was that the fabric didn’t feel right.

Under his thick wool coat he’d had a silken undershirt, more for fashion’s sake than anything practical, and now whatever fabric was on him scratched at his arms. Quite the same with his legs, actually. Including his feet which a wiggle of his toes revealed to definitely not be in his boots anymore.

He quickly ran a finger up his leg, and confirmed that his undergarments at least were still there. And the scratching fabric seemed to be laid on him, so a blanket… Someone had taken his outerwear and put him on a cot. Due to the table? Yes, that was the most logical and the least unsettling idea.

But he wasn’t in the dining hall anymore. This room was quiet, outside of a fair amount of clicking, and… Did he smell cheese? And there a noise that could only be described as ‘parp’.

Once he could will them to, his eyes creaked open to try and figure out where he was. And, looking at the giant… thing against the wall, he wasn’t any closer to figuring it out. It had holly on it, though, and a teddy bear with a big bow. So at least he knew it was still Hogswatch.

A young man, seated on a stool in front of the thing, turned and hastily readjusted his glasses. “You. er… you really should stay laying down, this time. You got a, uh… a nasty bump when you hit the floor.”

There were an awful lot of questions, but Teatime settled on, “Where are my clothes?” His tongue was still thick. Wonderful.

The young man, presumably a wizard as well, smiled apologetically. “We, ah… we sent them to the laundry. You… you were covered in food and we figured, you know, it wouldn’t be comfortable to sleep like that.” He swallowed and adjusted his glasses again. “We, ah… we also found your… your membership card, Mr-”

“Teh-ah-tim-eh,” he slurred out, automatically.

He sounded even more tired than he was, and the wizard adjusted uncomfortably.

“Teh-ah-tim-eh. Yes, well… your sword is over there.” He motioned to the far end of the room where it was placed. “Safe, safe!” he said, with hands up for urgent emphasis. “But you’ll, ah… you’ll understand if I’m more comfortable with it staying over there.”

“Fine enough, I guess.”

“I’m Ponder Stibbons… I’ll, ah, I’ll be taking care of you, I suppose.”

Teatime nodded his acknowledgement, and adjusted the pillows so he could be propped up at least. “So what is this?”

“Oh, this? This is Hex,” the wizard said. “It’s… it’s a thinking machine I guess is the easiest way. Doesn’t actually think, though.”

“Then how does it work?”

“Oh, well, you see, it, ah, starts with this ant hill…”

Unlike with the Arch chancellor, there was no premonition of a point being completely missed, or of bewildered disinterest. Teatime just sat, attentive and engaged as one could possibly be under the circumstances. Even his questions showed at least a basic grasp on magic that it certainly seemed some of Ponder’s peers had long abandoned.

It was so refreshing to find this in someone other than one of his own students, Ponder went on for about two hours before he caught himself. “But I, ah… I don’t want to bore you.”

“I’m not bored,” Teatime said. His voice was far more normalized, and a bit more earnest than he intended. “Tired and shockingly hungry, but not bored.”

“There’s, um… there’s plenty of food still, I’m sure. You crashing into dinner… It kind of threw off a lot of appetites.”

“I could see that. I’d love some, if it’s there though.”

“I’ll be right back,” Ponder said, and hurried out to go fetch a plate.

Teatime managed to sit up, with some difficulty, and tested his limbs. They still felt heavy, and far more than that his back ached. He certainly wasn’t in the shape to head out, still, much less to tangle with a woman who was about to get something back after leaving the tower… He wasn’t sure what, but he had a feeling whatever it was at probably rivaled the sword.

And there he was, freshly reanimated and down to his underwear until his coat was laundered. He didn’t much care for formalities, but there was no dignity in killing someone like that. Plus he’d freeze. There was that.

He sat, patient and (nearly) unarmed. The dagger he could reach barely counted, so he figured that he could have one. After that he was far more comfortable waiting for Ponder to come back with a plate full of food. It was slid into Teatime’s lap, and Ponder sat back on his stool with the notepad.

“Now, what did it feel like?” Ponder asked eagerly, with pencil poised just above the paper.

“Like falling spine-first onto a big pile of teeth,” Teatime replied as he attended to his first bite. He glanced up and giggled at the blank look. “It hurt going out, and it didn’t feel too good coming back in. There’s a long, quiet gap in between the two.“

"Did you see anything? A light, maybe? Relatives?”

“No. It was just very dark. I could see, but there was nothing but black to look at.” He frowned as he put another bite together. “Felt like I was going to be waiting there a while.”

Ponder scribbled that down. “Any sensations? A smell or…?”

Teatime closed his eyes as he chewed. “Think I might have been standing in sand. Or it could have been all that food I landed in. Not sure.”

“Well, that’s a lot to work with!” Ponder said, happily. “Never had, ah, someone come back from the dead before.”

There was a slight redness on his cheeks, and Teatime leaned forward a bit to examine it.

Ponder moved back, his face even darker. His eyes wanted to dart, but that was probably a bad idea with an Assassin. “What?”

“Oh, nothing,” Teatime grinned. He was fully ready to tease him some more, to at least bring some fun into the evening, and leaned a bit closer.

His back cracked. By all logic his spine should have been shattered, and there was more than enough pain now to remind him of that. He yelped, despite himself, and straightened back up.

Ponder leapt from his stool. “Y-you have to lay down!” He more moved than helped Teatime lay back on his stomach. “I’ll, uh… I’ll go get something!” he said, desperately, as he rushed out of the room.

Teatime buried his face in the pillow as he tried in vain to regulate his breathing. There was no way he could sneak out after they all fell asleep like he’d planned. He might not be able to get out for at least a week, even. And he didn’t want to entertain the idea that an Assassin who couldn’t walk was less than useless, but…

“Here it is!” Ponder said. He hurried back in.

He turned his head just enough to see Ponder give a few more meaningful grinds with a mortar and pestle, and a green cloud puffed out over the rim.

“What is it?” he muttered, apprehensively. As he watched the wizard scoop out a large blob of gray, he struggled to get back up and got a horrible shot of pain from his back. “Don’t! What are you…!? … Oh”

Ponder rubbed the slime onto Teatime’s bare back, and a warmth seeped deep into his bones. The pain slowly subsided, and his tight muscles started to relax. And, after a long day of physical and emotional stress and far too much cold even in that tower, it just felt so nice…

As he probably should have hours ago, Teatime soon fell into a deep sleep.


	2. Chapter 2

Between the treatment, resurrection, and how draining his contract had been, Teatime slept a day and a half. He woke up with a start and only relaxed once he saw that, even though he had been moved to a proper room, the sword was still laid out for him. Only, now, it was joined by his freshly laundered outerwear.

Perfect, because Susan Sto Helit had to pay.

She’d killed him, of course, and that wasn’t something that shouldn't just be let go. Far worse than that, though, was that she’d undoubtedly undone all of his brilliant work by then. The Hogfather was likely resurrected and back into place like Teatime hadn’t killed him off, and there was no real chance of returning to the tower to set it up again. Everything would be like he hadn’t even been there.

That would have been unforgivable enough, but then, then! She’d decided to dig up certain… aspects that he’d very much liked keeping buried. She’d put them out for everyone to see, and had even grinned and slapped him for emphasis. Frankly, death wasn’t a good enough punishment. She needed to be humiliated. And, for that, he needed a plan.

Unfortunately, his body was somehow even stiffer than when he’d fallen asleep. While he wasn’t in searing pain anymore, his back certainly didn’t feel particularly functional. Just getting out of the cot and to the bathroom was an ordeal that required gratuitous use of the wall. He was in no condition to seek any kind of revenge, much less against an enemy of unknown ability. So, for then, he’d spend his recovery time conducting research

And, what luck, there happened to be a rather famous library right on campus!

His outerwear had been placed beside a set of day clothes, made of tragically cheap fabric in far too bright of colors. Evidently, he was expected to stay during his recovery (probably for observational purposes). And that would likely allow for some freedom of movement within the facilities. It wouldn’t take much to sneak in, and…

Someone was coming. Teatime went for the knife that was no longer at his belt (what kind of day clothes didn’t have holsters?). He prepared, uncouth as it was, to use his fists until he realized that it was the young wizard from the other day. Only then did he return to a more neutral stance.

“Oh, you’re up,” Ponder said, seemingly oblivious to what had nearly happened. “I had thought you, ah, you might sleep another day. You were… really banged up.”

Teatime gave him a wide smile, “I’ve always been very resilient.”

“That’s great. I’d… I’d just like to run a few tests. See how you’re coming back and all…”

“That’d be fine. I’d love access to the library, afterwards. I don’t have a lot of strength right now, but I could certainly read.”

“I’ll… I’ll see what I can do. It really is the Librarian’s call, after all, but I think I, ah… Or I think maybe we could get that to happen.” He pulled a notepad out. “Let’s start with your reflexes.”

Teatime sat down, and let Ponder move his limbs this way and that. He let his spine be examined, mostly with fingers running down his back.

“You’re, ah… You’re well put together,” Ponder said. “I guess it must be part of being an Assassin. Wizards don’t get much time for that sort of work… And even if we did, we’d probably just spend it on another feast.” His face was slightly pink, again, as he listened to Teatime’s stomach with a stethoscope.

“I’d love the chance to read like wizards do, though,” Teatime said. “There can be an unfortunate disinterest in research.”

“It’s here, too, I’m afraid. Especially with the holiday, they all just want to slack down to the main hall.”

Teatime tsk’d. “This city is far too obsessed with Hogswatch.”

“Thank you!” Ponder exclaimed as he scribbled down his notes. “It’s just a solstice festival, but the world will end if we don’t dedicate everything to it…”

“That’s what I say,” Teatime shrugged. “But my way of thinking rarely lines up with anyone else’s.”

“Same here. I think it can be a good thing sometimes, though.” He closed up his notepad. “You wanted to see the library?”

“Yes, please.”

* * *

The Library was still rather empty, and likely would be until the new year where the majority of faculty and pupils admitted it was time to get back to work.

The Librarian enjoyed the break. His area was silent, truly for once, and books were always where they were expected to be. Though, of course, perfect order could get dull after a while, and he would take his time to watch the visitors a little more closely. Generally that only amounted to Ponder, or a student sent to look something up for him. But tonight…

The guest, as Ponder had referred to him, was not in and of himself magical. He had enough of an aura to be allowed to sit in the magical areas of the library, but it certainly didn’t seem to be his own.

And Ponder had originally seemed ready to just drop him off there. But, when he heard his guest would be studying a topic he’d never tried before, he joined in covering a table with an absolute mountain of books.

They chatted excitedly as they filled page after page with notes. And, since they could hardly show one another things on opposite ends of the table, they took chairs closer to one another. And were forced to move closer again when their available space shrunk.

In what they would consider organic, within an hour they were shoulder to shoulder. Which, of course, led to an awful lot of accidental touching. Elbows bumping into one another, a hand on the shoulder while they looked over something the other had found, brushing fingers that lingered a little too long while they passed books…

And neither seemed to get it. Really, it was questionable if they even noticed they were doing it.

Just as it seemed that at least one had caught on, the guest gave a strangled cry and clutched his back. Ponder, in the mild panic he always lived in, looked at the Librarian in a desperate apology for all the books he’d have to re-shelve.

The Librarian waved them off, and rolled his eyes as they headed out. Leave it to Ponder to find someone as oblivious as he was.

* * *

Laying on an actual mattress felt better. Or it would afterwards. For the moment his back was once again burning, and Teatime kept his face buried in the pillow.

“Here we are!” Ponder said, quickly, as he let the green cloud dissipate and grabbed a handful of the mixture. He ran a thick line of it down Teatime’s spine, then started to massage it in.

“That feels really good,” Teatime said, dreamily, as he let his head loll to the side.

“I’m glad,” Ponder replied. “It’s my own personal blend. Hex isn’t, ah, it isn’t good for the wrists…”

“Mm…”

It made sense that resurrection would not be a one-and-done sort of thing. Certain body parts were inevitably going to wake up slower than others. And certain body parts were far more eager to announce themselves than others. One in particular had a penchant for the dramatic.

Teatime’s eyes, which had been drifting shut only a moment before, snapped open in concerned intensity. There’d been a twitch in the Library which was easily ignored, but now there was a growing heat. Being face-down on the mattress was nowhere near as comfortable as it’d previously been, and staying still nowhere near as easy. He realized, with a sinking feeling in his gut, that it was only getting worse.

He didn’t want the massaging to stop, though. It felt incredible, and more so now that it almost felt like his muscles were being lovingly traced. But the whole thing was sending fairly urgent signals elsewhere. That was, likely, quite bad for a working relationship with someone who seemed to be rather useful.

Teatime tried to forcibly regulate his breathing and keep his hips still. But when Ponder was less than careful, and let his nails scrape along the skin, it sent a jolt through him that…

“I really should get to sleep,” Teatime said, quickly.

“O-oh, sorry,” Ponder said. He jerked his hands back, and to cover it up by quickly grabbed the bowl. “You really should… Well… I’ll see you in the morning?”

“Sure.”

“Great… See you.”

When there was a reluctant click of the door latch, Teatime rolled over and slid a hand gratefully under his waist band.

It had picked a horrible time to wake up, which was the nature of the beast he supposed. But it did give him the recent memory of hands on his skin to concentrate on. And his mind could drift back to the faint smell of soap as Ponder had leaned over his shoulder to look at a picture, and the feel of the arm that’d been wrapped around his waist as the went back to the room…

In a way that he could convince himself was organic, natural, and meaningless, Teatime had a wonderful fantasy in his head to carry him through.

Elsewhere in the University, completely organically and meaninglessly, Ponder had the same.

Still elsewhere, the Librarian suddenly had the worst headache.


	3. Chapter 3

The Librarian had been sorting the same books for a half hour at that point, one pile to the next. He should, and on most nights would, have been done a long time ago. But he found himself horribly distracted.

The couple was back for another research session, complete with their awkward touches and too-long glances at one another. But it was different, today, and a feeling of embarrassed apprehension colored every action. Something had happened. It hadn't been enough to override their physical, or even emotional, interest in one another. But it was enough to make them exceptionally annoying about it.

And, once again, the Librarian was not terribly sure if either one actually got what they were doing.

He left to reshelve the books instead, but even on the other side of the building he could still see them in his mind's eye. Still horribly, annoyingly awkward and not looking as if they'd get anywhere at all. They needed a push, it seemed.

The Librarian took to a high stack in the sympathetic magic section and waited. When Ponder came by with an armful of books, the Librarian slipped one in. And, oblivious as always when he was browsing the stacks, Ponder didn't notice the change in pressure and just headed back to the table.

Jonathan, the guest's name seemed to be, looked up and smiled when Ponder gratefully dropped the heavy load on the table.

"Take a look at this chart," Jonathan said, and passed over a book. "It's definitely promising."

"Thanks," Ponder said, and took the book and began to read after the obligatory finger brushing.

The Librarian took a new spot, and watched as Jonathan reached up and took another book. Then there was a long, confused pause as he read the title. He flipped through a few pages to confirm that the cover was not a fluke, then shrugged and put it on the discard pile. Without a mention of it, that pile was moved to the reshelving cart.

An Idiot's Guild to Flirting moved back onto the shelf where it'd come from. The Librarian decided that much, much more direct interventions were necessary.

* * *

Teatime was determined not to have a repeat of the night before. He'd checked out a selection of books for distraction to ensure it, even if the Librarian had given him an uncomfortably knowing look while he loaded a bag with them. Not that he cared, of course. The theories of applied magic he'd checked out were fascinating, and would work exceptionally well.

There was a twitch of anticipation as Ponder set up, and Teatime reached into the bag to grab a book.

The one he pulled out was… not what he expected. It was a semi-religious text that advocated seeking inner peace and happiness through the most physical of means, and it was not light on illustrations of how to accomplish that. It certainly didn't help the situation, and he shoved it back into the bag and fished for another one.

And pulled out the same book.

He shoved it back, and fished once again.

The same book was in his hand.

The damned bag was enchanted.

"What's that?"

Well past deniability, Teatime held the book up. "It wasn't in my original selection, but it seems I'm demanded to read it."

Ponder's hands froze on his back. "O-oh… Yeah… that's… yeah." The redness of his face was well into his voice.

"You've read it, then?" Teatime asked, turning his head around best he could.

"All er, all wizards have, at one point or another…" he admitted. "It's… This place is basically a monastery. And… well… "philosophical" texts like this are okay to read, so…"

"Ah…"

"B-but I guess… the Guild, ah, would have been much different, right?" His hands shook as he tried to focus on rubbing the medication in. "They want you to be ready for everything… so I've heard… So I assume…"

Teatime's mind flashed back to the field trips down to the Seamstress District, where the awkward boys were mandated to become men under the tutelage of women with the smallest of patience for their hesitancy and selfishness. So he certainly knew his way around anatomy. But this was different for reasons he didn't remotely understand. It was all just carnal urges, wasn't it?. Teatime suddenly felt just as young and awkward as his first lessons had.

"Not everything," he admitted, with an admirable attempt to hide the vibrato in his voice.

The two were quiet for a period, as they tried to focus just on the quiet treatment they'd done the first night. But the book was in their heads, and refused to get out. And, with how anonymously the figures had been drawn, it was awfully easy to put oneself into it…

Teatime readjusted, which was far more of a roll of the hips than he'd hoped for.

"You too?" Ponder asked, voice barely above a whisper.

Teatime looked back, and then down. Seems a wizard's uniform did just as poor a job of hiding those sorts of things.

When Teatime sat up, Ponder's eyes dropped down only to quickly snap back up to his eyes. His mouth gaped a bit, ready to say something he couldn't figure out the words for. But, when his face was cupped and pulled in, he was ready to meet the kiss best he was able. And then the next, and the next. Hands after some hesitation, began to explore downward.

Ponder assisted his being guided into Teatime's lap, and his breath caught as they pressed together. They took the moment to breathe and look the other one over. They had to confirm that what was about to happen was really happening.

"If you don't want to…" Teatime began.

Ponder silenced that with a kiss.

Between disinterest and inability to find a partner, Teatime had been on a rather long dry spell. One would never admit that normally, much less in the hyper-masculine Guild. He hadn't thought much of it, really, until now when his endurance proved to be fairly terrible. It matched Ponder's, though, so he supposed there was a silver lining.

They lay out of the bed together, and collected themselves slowly. Teatime kept an arm around him as he used to wet washcloth brought in with the salve to clean them off.

"That was... wow," Ponder said, bleary voice muffled by the shirt he was buried in.

"Yeah." Teatime felt a kiss pressed to his shoulder, and pulled the blanket up over them.

Ponder looked up. "You sure?"

"You really the sort to walk back alone after?" Teatime asked. He laughed when Ponder's face went red, and then buried back in his arm.

"Goodnight, then," he said, and settled in to sleep.

"Goodnight."

Ponder was asleep almost immediately, but Teatime found himself stuck awake. He ran his fingers through the dark hair in front of him, over and over again.

His hair was clean, but far from healthy. Nearly as dry as his skin, really. Wizards must have used the same sort of cheap, harsh soap that mimicked their horribly utilitarian decisions on fabrics.

It wasn't that he cared for this man or anything, that was ridiculous. But, at the same time, having a wizard willing to do his bidding was a very valuable tool. And it was best to keep him happy and healthy and close…

There wasn't anything emotional to this, of course, but it'd be a good idea to at least get him some proper cleaning supplies. And he certainly had the money, thanks to…

Teatime frowned. He needed to take care of that, didn't he? He really didn't want to leave, absolutely and only because he was tired from a long day of research, but this was the best time to do this.

He hesitated, then kissed Ponder, quickly, on the forehead before he slipped out of bed. He put on his outerwear, and felt very much himself again once again armed and clad in silk and fine wool.

With one last look back, he slipped out of the window and headed across town.


	4. Chapter 4

Clients tended to be scarce during holiday seasons, Hogswatch in particular. Beneficiaries just weren’t interested in obtaining the services of an Assassin when they were surrounded by friends and family, and happily stuffing themselves with food besides. It made the inhumation bell a particular, and glorious, rarity.

Jonathan could hardly wait.

On the other side of the desk, Lord Downey looked over the report of the inhumation. Occasionally he’d look up with a frown or raised eyebrow, and then get back to the paper.

“I suppose you had little option but to incorporate magic.”

“It was a highly unusual client,” Teatime agreed. “He would not have been vulnerable to traditional means.”

“And you’re sure, then, that he’s been inhumed?” Downey gave a look which emphasized the great offense of lying about such a thing.

“I’m sure he had been, Sir,” Teatime said, brightly. “And with elegance.”

“Had?”

“He appears to have been resurrected, Sir. Which should not be held against me.” Teatime sat up a bit straighter. “Assassination rule number 72: Resurrection and zombification are neither the responsibility nor fault of an Assassin, nor do their occurrence constitute reason for delayed or denied payment. Rule 72 A: If a beneficiary is dissatisfied that an inhumation has failed to prevent reanimation, they may register the client a second time.”

“Look that one up before you got here, eh?”

Teatime looked puzzled. “No sir, I thoroughly read the rule book. As instructed.”

It was a first day statement to students. Though, of course, it was hardly expected for them to do so to the point of memorization. But Teatime had never been most students.

“Yes… And I suppose we did have a deal with this.”

Teatime brightened. “Yes sir.”

Downey tapped the papers against the desk. “I’ll see this gets filed. Talk to Mr Winvoe about your payment. Minus Guild fees, of course.”

He nodded, happily. “I understand.”

“One last thing,” Lord Downey said. He laced his fingers as Teatime sat back down. “It seems that you finished the inhumation several days ago.”

“I required recovery time, due to unforeseen circumstances.”

“You listed a pet in your home. A Guild representative went to feed it, when you did not return as expected. As per Guild guidelines, of course.”

“Sure she appreciates it as much as I do, sir.”

Lord Downey sat forward a bit. “They reported that it appeared that you hadn’t been home for some time.”

“I’ve been recovering off site. I will likely be there a while longer.” He added quickly, “I will collect the animal, sir. I do appreciate the Guild caring for these things, but I don’t want to be a burden.”

“Of course… And where is this…?”

“It’s reputable, sir.” Teatime stood, and bowed his head respectfully. “I must be off. Thank you for the opportunity.”

“Yes. Have a good evening.”

In an instant, Teatime had left the office.

Downey made a note to place a search out on him. Until he fully settled on what should be done about Mr Teatime, he was hardly the sort that should be allowed to disappear.

* * *

Ponder had woken up alone. To be expected, really, since Assassins weren’t known to stay around past the point of physical necessity.

Being the logical person that he was, he was mostly disappointed at the loss of data to collect. Wasn’t he? He hadn’t thought someone like Teatime was looking for companionship, much less…

No, definitely nothing like that.

Besides, he had a great deal of work to do on Hex. It’d become disinterested in cheddar, lately. That’d previously been a powerful motivator for difficult spells, and if it wouldn’t do anymore…

His efforts were interrupted by a hard rap on the window.

Ponder jumped, and looked over to find Teatime hanging from the frame by one hand. His other hand seemed to be holding a great deal of packages.

Teatime motioned, impatiently, with his head to open the window already. The students looked nervously between themselves and Ponder. After a moment of hesitation, Ponder tried to motion that this particular window didn’t open. He pointed that Teatime would have to go down and around to the front door of the High Energy Magic Building.

With a roll of his good eye so large it used his entire head, and a few choice words that couldn’t be heard through the glass, Teatime let go of the edge and fell to the ground. Ponder hurried to the front to let him in.

“Do you have any idea how long it’s been since I had to actually search for someone?” Teatime asked, firmly, as he put his packages down and brushed snow off his shoulder. “Been outside a half hour looking in windows. And it’s storming.”

Ponder shrink under the stare. “Sorry, er.. we, ah… We do have a front door…” His eyes darted down to the pile of items, and landed on an animal carrier. “Is that a cat?”

Hex began to rapidly print out messages, most of which amounted to +++NO NO NO+++.

“Assassins never use front doors. And even if we did, I wouldn’t know which front door to use,” Teatime said, firmly. “And this place is so haywire that-”

“You can’t have a cat in here!” Ponder insisted, no longer passively waiting to interject a point. “Hex is…”

“Excuse me?” Teatime frowned, and looked around the side of the machine where Ponder had pointed. “Oh, the mouse. Yes.” He knelt down to the pet carrier and started to open the door.

“No, stop!”

Behind him, Hex went mad with refusals, its gears whirling angrily as the ants raced about inside. The students did all the could to, fruitlessly, try and calm it.

The all of them stopped as Teatime pulled out a brown rat.

“Meet Bob,” Teatime announced, proudly, as he held the rodent up.

The rat turned its head to look at Ponder with its single eye. It twitched its whiskers at him. Hex started to whir again.

“It’s a female.”

“A female named Bob,” Teatime insisted. “Yes.”

Ponder nodded. “That’s much different than a cat, then.” He paused to look at the readout. “Seems Hex wants to meet Bob. Or, the mouse part of Hex, anyway.”

“Fine, fine,” Teatime said, and let Bob down towards the nest. “I need that medicine, anyway.”

“Oh… Yes, of course. Come on, lay down over here.”

Teatime shed his coat, thick from melting snow, on the hook in the hall. Once he was in the spare room, a grand assortment of weapons were likewise placed neatly on a side table. And only after they were exactly as he wanted them did he remove his silk shirt. He gave into the pain that came from a drop in adrenaline and laid on the bed.

Ponder had long over-mixed the salve as he watched this. The students passed looks that he didn’t notice as he headed over and began to rub the solution in.

“So where’d you go?” He asked.

“Loose ends to tie up, in particular removing the Guild's free rein of my apartment,” he said. “Since it seems I’ll be here a while, with my back aching and all.”

“Seems so. So clothes and all that?”

“Primarily.” Teatime nuzzled his head into the pillow as he started to fall into the usual deep relaxation. “I did pick up a few things.”

“Oh?”

“Mm. Got you some proper soap, for one.”

Ponder's cheeks pinked slightly. “Soap? Why would you…?”

“Whatever they give you here is drying you out horribly. It’s why you have so many split ends.”

“I, er… I have split ends?”

Teatime didn’t turn his head, but Ponder could just tell the look he was meant to get.

“I’ll try it out tonight,” he agreed.

“Good. Also picked up some cheese.”

“You did?”

“You said the cheddar wasn’t working the other day,” Teatime said, nearly asleep now. “Have a lot of Quirmian contacts at the Guild, and they know cheese better than nearly everything else. I picked up a few things they said might work.”

“Thank you… I’m sure Hex will appreciate it… Much as it can appreciate anything.”

“Mm.”

Ponder could feel the students eyes on him, so didn’t linger after Teatime fell asleep. Even if he quite wanted to.

*****

Teatime had been right about the soap, it seemed. Ponder had never given much thought to what he cleaned himself with, so long as it did in fact get him clean. He’s used the exceedingly utilitarian supply UU kept in stock, and had for years.

After his shower, he found that for the first time he didn’t simply feel clean. Everything about him felt softer, and outright refreshed.

It gave him an almost floating step as he sat down to run Hex’s evening checks.

“How is the new cheese doing?” Ponder asked into the speaker.

Hex whirred and put out. +++Much Better Than What You Gave Me Before.++++

“Well, Assassins are known for their taste.”

Even if Teatime didn’t carry himself like any Assassin Ponder had ever seen. Seemingly despite his best efforts to appear to be their version of normal.

+++Yes, Good.+++ Hex paused to whir thoughtfully, and then added, +++You Should Keep Him.+++

Ponder’s face went red again. “Mind your business and get on with the checks.”

+++This Arrangement Has The Potential To Be Beneficial For Both Of Us. If You Are Willing To Acknowledge It.+++

“Hush. Diagnostic check #1.”

+++At Least Find Out Where He Bought The Cheese.+++

“Hex.”

+++And However He’s Getting You That Relaxed. It’s Very Effective.+++

“ _Hex_.”

+++Maybe You Should Ask Again, If You’re So Tense.+++

“Hex.  _Now_.”

+++Beginning Diagnostic Test #1. You Grouch.+++


	5. Chapter 5

Life had returned to normal shockingly fast for Susan, which she supposed meant that things had worked out exactly according to plan. Children believed again, as they were meant to. Whatever the Guild's plan had been, it had evidently been abandoned with the death of the Assassin. By the time the city woke up, it would never know things had gone back to normal because it wouldn't know anything had been abnormal in the first place.

The only real difference was that she and her Granddad now had a standard meeting time during the short period of the day where she had the house to herself. And, she had to admit, of all the changes that could have happened this was definitely the nicest.

Generally, of course.

I BELIEVE I HAVE A LEAD ON THE SWORD.

"Do you?" She asked. Susan had given up on it, after a search of the tower had proven fruitless. Considering how the realm messed about with things that weren't meant to be there, it could have gone anywhere.

WHAT DID YOU SAY THE ASSASSIN'S NAME WAS?

"Teatime, I believe," she said after a pause. "Though he pronounced it very oddly..."

TEH-AH-TIM-EH?

"Yes, that was it," she said, cup halfway to her mouth. Slowly, she placed it back on the saucer. "You didn't collect him already? I saw how far he fell... He should have been quite thoroughly dead."

Death pulled an hourglass from his robe and placed it on the table. The sand inside continued to move back into the upper chamber. It flowed in a jerky sort of way that said it, too, was rather confused about why. Sure enough, the brass nameplate said "Jonathan N. Teatime".

"Is... Did he zombify?"

NO, THE SAND FOR THE UNDEAD IS QUITE DIFFERENT. HE'S VERY MUCH ALIVE. AND, IF HE'S AS YOU SAID HE IS, HE'S LIKELY CARRYING THE SWORD.

"What would he be doing with it, though?" Susan asked, body tensed more by the minute. "I would think, a man like him with a weapon like that... We would have heard about people getting attacked..."

I WOULD SUPPOSE YOU'LL FIND OUT.

"Me?"

IT'S POLITE TO RETURN WHAT YOU BORROW.

Susan thought of arguing. She settled, instead, to irritably drink her tea and plot a very long vacation. She'd need one after this was finally, actually, over.

* * *

Throughout his youth, Teatime had made it his business to know the entirety of Ankh-Morpork. Through edificering, and heavy use of the eye, he'd gone over every rooftop, inside every building, and down every alleyway. One of the main things he learned was that he absolutely hated the Unseen University.

He'd never managed an explanation for it more than 'magic', really, but the place messed with his senses. The walls acted like proper walls, shielding the people inside. If he stared too long, a yellow haze would start to form around it that would only become stronger until the entire place was hidden. If he snuck onto the grounds and tried to search, the blowback knocked him stupid for a few minutes and left him with a migraine for days. Teatime had, very reluctantly, admitted that the University itself was better at keeping him out than even the Guild Master.

And, then, Ponder's refused to stay in bed during what an Assassin would consider to be normal sleeping hours (seeing as their work generally finished in the wee hours of the morning). He had absolutely forced Teatime to search it.

He was reduced to using adrenaline to fight his stiff joints, and peek in windows, like a child or even worse a thief. He was fairly sure he hadn't been spotted, thanks in large part to wizards generally being old and highly distractible. But, still, it was embarrassing.

For all his trouble, he couldn't even roll over in bed the next day. Bob used his head gratuitously as a pillow, and Ponder brought out what he called "the intense stuff", because nobody was grateful anymore.

"We're pushing to the end of what I can do," Ponder told him in his best disappointed teacher voice. He used gloved hands to rub the new salve in, his movements more a shove than a massage. "If you push too hard again, I'm going to need to call in a witch. And I don't want to do that."

"What's wrong with witches?"

"The headache of the rest of the University complaining about them," Ponder replied. "They, ah... There's a lot of fundamental differences in how we think and practice magic. So there's a lot of butting heads. I, er, would think there'd be plenty of that back at your Guild, too. You're probably used to that..."

"More than our share, but it never interferes with business," Jonathan said, his teeth clenched as the medicine seemed to tunnel down into the bone.

"How do you guys get past it?"

"Emphasis on etiquette and rules of order. And, barring all else, a good dagger or poison-tipped dart will solve basically any issue," Jonathan said, matter-of-factly.

"Ah... Right." Ponder went quiet for a long while. "Can I, er... Can I ask you something?"

Teatime frowned at the change in tone. "Why?"

"For... scientific purposes."

"Go on, then."

After another moment of hesitation, Ponder asked, "Why were you so insistent on finding me quickly? You, er... You know where your room is, because we've walked there and back from the library. Or... or you could have waited in the library and gotten more research done. You had a lot of options, but.. But you climbed all over..."

"Wanted you to meet Bob." Teatime answered, cheerfully and far too quickly.

The rat's whiskers twitched. She buried herself deeper into his curls as if annoyed about being dragged into it.

"Jonathan, I'm serious."

"I'm never not serious about Bob," he replied, in a mocking version of Ponder's teacher voice.

"You wouldn't nearly cripple yourself over-"

"I'd do a lot worse for the best rat on the Disc," Teatime insisted. He, thoughtfully, added, "I have, actually."

Ponder was about to reply when there was a lot of commotion from the main area of the building. His intuition told him that he was about to be annoyed in a very specific sort of way. And that meant...

He sighed, heavily, and stood up. "Stay." Ponder grabbed his staff on the way out, and shut the door a bit harder than necessary as a point.

That, of course, made it rather mandatory for Teatime to test his back.

He didn't know Ponder well, he would say, but he knew enough to be a bit put off when he finally changed and made it to the main hall. The students were hung back, interested and nervous, behind Ponder who'd squared up to block the door in an oddly effective show of force.

Teatime was content to stand back and watch this incredibly interesting change. At least, he was until the absolute globe of a man at the door made a move towards Ponder.

In an instant, Teatime was at the door as well with his best glower on.

The man looked over, his anger temporarily forgotten for concern. "And who is this?"

Ponder glanced over for a second. His eyes were furious, but his face stayed the same. "Protection."

"Protection!" The man laughed out. "So you really do have something to hide! Ponder, I-" The man abruptly shut up when Teatime unfolded a hunting knife with a flick of the wrist.

Teatime tried to advance, and found himself blocked by the staff. Ponder held it at chest-height, unmovable as a brick wall despite the completely untoned arm that held it.

"You'd best be off, Henry," Ponder said. "I can't hold him back forever."

Seeing as Teatime looked ready to bust through the staff, enchanted or not, Ponder didn't need to say it twice. Henry rushed off, fast as his legs could carry his bulk. It was just barely above a brisk walk.

It took a long while for Henry to get out of earshot, and let Ponder turn his attention to Teatime. The Assassin busied himself, quite gleefully, with pushing at the staff to try and make it budge.

"I said to stay in bed."

"You say a lot of things," Teatime giggled. "And right now you should be saying 'go take him out for me, he's annoying'."

"No. And I'm never going to tell you that."

"You're no fun. He seems like a pest."

"No," Ponder said, forcefully but without the anger. "Him buzzing around periodically, trying to poach students and me, keeps the higher-ups indignant. Which makes it easier for me to get a funding increase."

"It'd be good to scare him though, wouldn't it?" Teatime asked. His grin grew wider. "Because losing an ear..."

"No."

"I'd box it up for you."

Ponder bit his lip to keep the smirk at bay. "The answer to 'do you want a severed body part in a box' will always be no, I promise."

"What if it's wrapped nicely?"

Ponder undid the enchantment on the staff, and moved it back to normal position. "Not even then."

"You're no fun."

"Besides, I don't want you out of bed, much less running."

Jonathan made an indignant face. "I do not need to run to catch  _that_."

"Still." Ponder tapped Teatime on the forehead with his staff. "Back to bed."

"Fine, fine," he said. He returned the knife to the recesses of his coat and headed back to the cot. "I'm still getting you an ear, though."

"Can't get an ear if you can't walk," Ponder told him as he shut and locked the heavy door.


	6. Chapter 6

Assassins did not travel in straight lines, if it could be at all helped. It made one too easy to track and aim at, so they were to move in as fast yet indirect a path as possible.

As with so many of his other lessons, Teatime had taken that one to heart. The trip to the shopping district had taken three times the distance it would have taken a civilian, and not much less than that when he returned to his apartment. That was within an expected amount, and the Assassin tasked to follow him jotted it all down from the opposite rooftop. He took note of the routes, the relevant information about the shops listed, and how much he carried after that.

The Assassin noted that his observations were out of character with the Teatime he'd known from school. He traveled quickly, but nowhere near what he'd been known for. Likewise, compared to how he'd moved before, he now appeared to be hesitant and stilted. He'd self-reported that he'd been injured, perhaps it was a bit more than he'd let on.

But more concerning was that he hadn't seemed to notice he was being followed. He didn't glance back excessively, nor did he take abnormally evasive maneuvers. Maybe he'd started to slip, or maybe-

Teatime left his apartment through the window with a load of bags. He rearmed the trap, and headed up to the roof. He stood to full height, turned to where the Assassin had hidden himself, and saluted with a grin.

Or maybe he just hadn't cared that the Guild knew that he'd gone to a few innocuous shops, and then grabbed a few things from his apartment. But he certainly cared about hiding where he'd go after that.

Teatime took two steps, and then appeared a rooftop over.

And the chase was on.

The route darted about, in an erratic but seemingly calculated way. It aimed towards a location and then abruptly looped back on itself. It made a mockery of the typical evasive Assassin movements and, in the glimpses of Teatime's face that the Assassin got, seemingly gleefully so.

The Assassin, as with every other classmate of his, had well learned to tune out his antics. Besides, the far bigger concern was that they were heading towards the River Ankh, now. Teatime must have miscalculated badly, because there was no bridge nearby. And, once he realized...

Teatime skidded to a stop at the stone barrier along the river. He panted hard as he looked back and forth, and seemed to calculate how long it'd take to run to the bridges. The trailing Assassin waited on a nearby rooftop, and similarly took the time to catch his breath.

There was definitely an injury, he noted, and based on how he held himself it was either to the spine or gut. Whatever it was, it had started to catch up to him in a big way. There wasn't much choice but to head straight to his safehouse. Probably would need to get a carriage, even, at this point which-

Mr Teatime's reputation for madness was as well known as it was earned. But, the thing about his particular brand was that, no matter how prepared a person believed they were, he'd always have a surprise ready.

That time, he climbed up on to the stone wall. He turned back to smile up at the Assassin.

His jaw dropped. "No, don't-!"

Teatime jumped.

The Assassin watched in shock as his target ran across the frozen sludge. He moved as easily as he would have on pavement, though there didn't seem to be proper footprints in the snow.

When he got himself into Ankh, Mr. Teatime was positively heaving. He held himself even more oddly than before, and wouldn't be able to go much further. But that didn't matter. It couldn't be denied that he'd won. There was a river between them, and no bridge close enough to continue to follow.

The Assassin matched Teatime's salute, and wasn't surprised when he vanished and didn't reappear. He just settled onto the roof and jotted down a few notes.

How much of a show he'd made about going into Ankh was suspicious, but it very easily could have just been desperate (certainly nobody came in contact with the River Ankh unless they were). There was plenty of reason to believe his safehouse could be in either city, which would mean that the search range was no smaller than it'd been before. Only now the Guild would be aware that he was aware that they were looking for him.

The crazy bastard had always been too clever to keep the Guild happy with him.

* * *

Teatime dragged himself down another block. He said a silent prayer beforehe scanned the area, and sighed gratefully when he didn't find any other Assassins. Only then did he whistle down a cab and order it to take him to the Unseen University.

He laid down heavily on the seat inside of the carriage. That medicine was amazing, to be expected of magic he supposed, but he'd pushed well past its limit. At least the Guild would have the message to leave him alone, but it meant that all he wanted to do for the rest of the day was lay down.

And, what luck, it was only 9:30! Guild classes never started before 2, because an average Assassin never wandered out of bed much before noon unless they were forced to. Wizards were the same, weren't they? So, by extension, Ponder would logically still be in bed.

It'd be nice for something to go simply that day.

* * *

Two days after that point, Susan began her search... At least, she'd meant to.

The initial search with his name had failed, as if he were being shielded somehow. And, as she settled on having to search the old fashioned way, it occurred to her that she knew absolutely nothing about where she needed to be to do that. She knew little about Assassins and, other than unhelpful educated guesses about his childhood, far less than that about Teatime specifically.

She chewed over what she had figured out.

He'd been far too proud of being clever, in the way that came from excessive education. And, while she admittedly knew little of the Guild's curriculum, that education seemed to be well past what a typical Assassin would have. The small snippets of information he'd thrown about were too... impractically specific for Assassins. So he was likely the sort drawn to libraries. But nobody went to a library when they were itching to try a magical sword. That was no help.

Children who started out as he had didn't tend to grow into particularly social adults. He probably spent a great deal of his off-time alone. With how pale he was, even more than a typical Assassin, he probably was inside his home an awful lot. And she couldn't very well knock on every door hoping he'd answer.

He was childish, and cruel, and calculating. It said that he should have been after her personally, likely rather immediately. But it'd been so quiet for so long, Susan'd had no reason to think he wasn't dead. She couldn't just hope he was still planning to find her. Though, considering what he'd likely try to do if he did, 'hope' was probably not the word... Depend. She'd stick with depend.

Though, she thought glumly, who was to say he was even in the city anymore? Granddad certainly hadn't specified that he was alive in Ankh-Morpork. He could have skipped town that night with the sword as a consolation prize. Maybe the reason she hadn't heard of those particular types of murder were because he was slicing his way through Quirm or something. But, then, Granddad would have stepped in instead of sending her off to potentially search the whole Disc with nothing.

Even assuming he had the same Assassin's taste for fine food and high-brow entertainment like opera didn't help much, as there were simply too many of both to assume that staking them out would be useful. Or that it would be particularly quick, even if it was.

Susan could feel a headache coming on as she was down to a single option. It was potentially taking her life into her hands, seeing as she had directly dismantled the work of one of their members in a plan perhaps conceived by the very top.. But what choice did she have?

The only quick and reliable way to find Teatime was to ask the Assassins Guild.


	7. Chapter 7

"This is excessive, isn't it?"

Ponder continued to pile books onto every available surface in the room. "The fact that you're not sedated and handcuffed to the bed is excessive, at this point."

Despite Teatime's insistence that it really was Ponder's fault that he'd had to push so hard, he was now confined to his room for the remainder of his treatment. When he'd asked if the door was locked, Ponder had said no. Technically. With wizards, the word 'technically' was in and of itself a technicality.

"I mean it, this time. You're going to stay put and get healthy."

Teatime had a feeling that making a quip along the lines of 'come over here and try it' would probably be another one of the technicality moments.

Ponder set the last pile up. "Now there's the bed, and the bathroom is attached to the room. You have every book you could possibly need, and Mrs Whitlow will be up with breakfast soon enough. You don't need anything outside of that door."

"Yes, but-"

"I will be back between classes. We'll do the next dose after lunch," Ponder said, talking over him. "Anything you decide you need, I'll go get you then."

"Yes, but-" Teatime tried, more forcefully.

"And if you actually want me to treat you, you're going to stay."

They stared one another down for a moment to see whose stubbornness would win out. Of course it was hardly a fair contest, with one standing comfortably and the other stuck in bed with legs that felt rather jellied as the strain continued to catch up. Teatime could even out the first part with a thrust of the knife, but...

Teatime chose to shut his mouth with a pointed click.

Ponder nodded. "Then I'll be back, and- ah, Mrs Whitlow!"

"Good morning, Mr Stibbons," the maid said, in a brightly polite sort of way, as she came into the room with a tray. "Just bringing the breakfast you asked for."

"Yes, I, er... Here!" Ponder cleared a bit of desk space, just barely enough to squeeze the tray in.

The maid slid it in. The cloche was removed to reveal a mountain of eggs and bacon, and what appeared to be a pint glass of coffee with a cream dispenser besides that the size of a regular mug.

Teatime stared in astonishment. "I'm the only one here to eat," he said, weakly, once he got his head around the fact that this buffett was paired with only one set of cutlery.

"Yes, you need protein to heal up!" She explained.

It'd been hammered into him, from a young age, to be polite to housekeepers. The Guild's were particularly dangerous,and, sweet as she seemed, Teatime could tell that Mrs Whitlow wasn't far from that. The child inside him felt helpless, and he looked to Ponder for help or at least an explanation. The Wizard had slipped out, sometime during the maid's explanation about the healing power of bacon.

And then he was left alone.

Teatime spent a long while, contemplating the technically not locked door and the sort of methods that his caretakers seemed set on. "Do you think I might have miscalculated about which medical ward I was more likely to survive?"

Bob, focused on a pulling a piece of bacon from the pile, didn't answer.

He shrugged it off. The choice had been made, and it wasn't as if his legs or back were able to handle the few blocks between the University and Guild.

Teatime settled in at the desk to pick at the food and started to read again. Maybe, just to relax from his increasingly elaborate plan for Susan, he'd jot down a little something about how to inhume wizards. He certainly had time, now.

* * *

The gates for the Assassin's Guild were always open. It gave the white-washed country club facade a warm, welcoming feel that did its best to skirt the fact that a person was likely not to walk out again. That illusion was undercut, severely, by the two Assassins who hung around out front looking very much like they were up to something.

She had to admit, though... Compared to the rigidly intense Teatime, this slouching suspiciousness was in its own way welcoming.

"Can we help you?" One asked, dully, as she tried to head inside.

"I'm here to see the Master of Assassins," Susans said, as authoritatively as she could manage.

"Lord Downey is incredibly busy," the other said. "You can't just walk in-"

"I believe he'll make time for me," She replied.

The second Assassin scoffed, "And what makes you think he'll do that?"

"There tends to be special consideration made for people in Twerp's Peerage."

"And you are?"

Susan seemed to grow larger as she glared up at them. "What sort of Assassins don't know exactly who I am?"

The Assassins slouched further and exchanged a look.

For the vast majority, the names within that book represented a large amount of money. And whoever someone with that sort of rank saw fit to inhume would likely be worth plenty as well. So she wasn't wrong. Lord Downey would be quite interested in seeing her.

"Wait here," the Assassin said. He slipped off inside, and left the other to guard the wide-open door.

Susan pointedly ignored the guard, who stared as he tried quite hard to figure out which member of Twerps' Peerage she was. She wondered if this was representative of the group, or if Teatime had been. If Teatime had even reported what'd gone on in the tower, and how much had been authorized in the first place.

Once she was allowed to head up to the office, she set herself to find out.

* * *

It was rare to see Ponder outside of the High Energy Magic Building. It was even rarer that he was out during a period that he hadn't been demanded to be, such as a meal or a meeting. But now he hung around a main hall well after lunch, seemingly hiding and taking far too much time to stir in the cream into his coffee.

There'd been a great deal of chatter from the students, which Ridcully had always done his best to ignore as it rarely was about anything worth listening to. But they seemed rather concerned about the one professor who largely kept the pupils out of the instructor's hair. And that, if nothing else, mandated investigating.

Ridcully took a seat next to him. "How goes the project, Mr Stibbons?"

"Er... About as well as, ah... all the others, Archchancellor," Ponder said, in honest sheepishness. "I'm hoping that, ah... that giving some more time...?"

"The human part mucks things up, doesn't it?"

"Far more than I'd ever expected it could." He frowned and stirred a bit more forcefully.. "According to the books, he... he should have been set by now. But, but he won't give it a chance to work, so every bit of progress we make just reverts the next morning, and..."

Ponder had never shaken the naive assumption that everything was understandable if one just worked hard enough. But then, it was the sort of thinking that came from locking oneself in with their research all day.

"You can't force people to change," Ridcully said. "Look at you! I've been trying to force you to talk sense for years now."

He sniffed out a laugh into his now lukewarm coffee.

"But from what I hear, there's potential for this one to listen. At least enough to sit for a morning."

"I hope so."

"Well, it's not going to happen sitting here with your coffee." Ridcully gave him a firm pat on the back. "Now go on."

Ponder nearly dropped the cup, but pulled himself back together. "Yes... er, thank you, Archchancellor."

He hurried off, and Ridcully was satisfied. It was nice to see the man with a proper problem for once.


	8. Chapter 8

For security, the Guild Master's office had no windows. For aesthetic purposes they had then lined it with dark wooden bookshelves, and lit it with candles and a fireplace on the far end. It kept the room large, dreary, and intimidating, no matter how much the sun shone outside.

Lord Downey, being a slight man with a gentle smile, seemed almost comically out of place. Susan was sure that'd gotten him very far back in the days where he took contracts. Or, had he never stopped...?

"Ah, Miss Sto Helit, please have a seat," he said, cheerfully. He stood from his desk and welcomingly motioned to the chair on the opposite side. "Would you care for a drink?"

"No," she said, quickly, as she did as instructed. "I'm fine. Thank you."

He nodded and sat back down. "To what do I owe the honor? Or, to whom, as is generally the case."

Susan sat up, hands in her lap as professionally as she could manage. "I'm looking for one of your men," she said.

He paused. "You want to hire us to inhume an Assassin?"

"No. I'm actually  _looking for_  a particular Assassin."

"That's not how this works," Lord Downey explained, patiently. "You give me the name of the client, perhaps a bit of information about how you'd like things to be carried out, and I select the best man to perform the service. Pending payment, of course." He smiled like a teacher. "You don't, for example, want to inadvertently select an explosives specialist for a job which requires extreme discretion."

"I'm not looking to  _hire_  him."

"Retain," Lord Downey corrected, with the slightest bit of sharpness. "Or contract. Or even commission, if you'd rather. But Assassins cannot be  _hired_."

"I don't want to do any of those things!" Susan snapped. She did her best to hide her indignance since, after all, being where she was it was a logical assumption. But, still, the idea of hiring someone like Mr Teatime made her skin crawl. "I'm just looking for him. To talk."

"We do not disclose our member's whereabouts with the general public, Miss Sto Helit. For both privacy and safety, you understand." Lord Downey's smile became more understanding and strained. "If this is about revenge, I'd suggest you make a client out of the previous beneficiary. They are the ones who had the final say in the client being inhumed, after all. And, if this is romantic-"

"Absolutely not!"

This whole thing was so much worse than she'd thought. She hadn't wanted to reveal why she was looking, as it'd very likely cause the Guild to search for him themselves. Potentially much faster and more definitively. But, if the other option was them thinking she was his jilted lover, she had no choice.

"This Assassin has something of mine. I need to get it back."

Lord Downey paused and, after a long moment, leaned forward. "You're accusing an Assassin of theft?" His face became hardened and dangerous. "You understand this is an incredibly serious charge?"

Everything about him suggested that, if the accusation was found to be credible, Teatime would be hunted down and killed horribly. He'd already been killed horribly once, though, and didn't seem to be following through with all of his insinuations. It wasn't terribly fair to inflict whatever being killed horribly meant by Assassin standards.

"Theft is a strong word," She explained. "There was a struggle during a job of his. He disarmed me and, in the resulting scuffle, I lost my sword. I'm not at all sure he has it, even, just that he may have an idea of where it could be." Susan gave her best placating look. "I just want a chance to ask him."

Lord Downey didn't appear to be ready to believe her, but he took up a pen. "And which Assassin would this be?"

"Te..." She paused to remember how her Grandad had pronounced it.

"Teatime?" he asked. His expression seemed to get harder.

"Pronounced differently, but yes."

"Wait just a moment." Lord Downey stood and headed to a file cabinet. He selected a folder and brought it back to his desk. He took a long while to read through the papers, and occasionally made a note.

Susan felt a pit grow in her stomach.

"I apologise for the inconvenience, Miss Sto Helit, on behalf of the entire Guild," he said, his voice apologetic but cool. "I'll see to it that Mr Teatime returns the... What did you say it was?"

"A sword," she told him, far less confidently.

"I'll see to it that he returns your  _sword_  in as timely a manner as we can manage. And, again, my deepest apologies."

"It's alright," she insisted. "I'm sure it's a misunderstanding." The idea of defending him was strange. But it seemed as if it'd be far worse not to.

"Even so," he said. He stood from his desk and ushered her, gently but with purpose, to the door. "Mr Carter will show you out."

"Er... Thank you."

The door shut with a firm, ominous click as soon as she was past it.

* * *

Teatime sneezed.

"Are you getting sick?" Ponder asked as he worked the medicine in.

"Sick of being in this room," he grumbled with a sniff.

"It's doing the job, though," he said, happily. "You're responding much more positively to this dose than you have to any of the others. I wouldn't think, ah, I'd say no more than another two, maybe three days before you're fit again!"

"I'll be in rigor mortis by then."

"It's not that bad," he said.

"You're right, it's worse," Teatime agreed. "I've gone through all the books, Bob ran off like a traitor, and these women won't stop trying to stuff me until I explode." He waved a hand towards the desk where a large plate of potatoes and sausage sat, practically untouched. Untouched by a human, anyway, based on the greasy mouse prints on the napkin.

"I'll tell Mrs Whitlow to, er... We'll get the portions down." He noted how the medicine sunk in readily, like a proper second dose. "At least it looks like Bob is happy."

"I think she's sneaking sausages off to your mouse."

"I can believe it. Hex seems happy, too." He paused, then frantically added, "Er, I mean it's more responsive! It's not able to  _be_  happy, of course, but it... It can work more efficiently."

"Well, good I suppose," he said.

"Er... yes..." Ponder snapped off his gloves. "So, did you need some new things? I assume there's a few new books you'd like..."

"I made a list," he said as he sat up and slipped back into the day shirt. "I can get things other than books, right?"

"I can, er..." Ponder looked at him more closely as the various things an Assassin  _might_ ask for ran through his head. "What were you thinking?"

Teatime grinned, eagerly. "Have you ever played Stealth Chess?"

"Uh... well, no," Ponder said. When Teatime's face fell, he quickly added, "I can play regular chess, though."

"Well, that's a start," he said with a shrug. "Get me a set, and I'll teach you."

"Not sure where to get one... I mean, I've never bought..."

"That's fine," Teatime said, brightly. "I'll just head off and fetch mine from home!"

"Alright, alright, I'll find one." He stood to get back to work. "Must be a great game."

"My favorite," Teatime said brightly as he presented the list with 'stealth chess set' underlined a few times. "And it makes you smarter."

"Name like that," Ponder mused as he headed out, "Seems like it's more designed to make a person paranoid."

"That's an important lesson!" Teatime called after him, cheerfully.


	9. Chapter 9

By that evening, Assassins had begun to swarm over the city. They peeked in windows and courtyards, peered down alleys, made notes, and moved on.

Susan's window to fix things quietly was closing by her own hand. She tried to search for him again, but the only result was a haze followed by a headache. Rather fitting, actually.

His autobiography might offer some clues, assuming of course that it wasn't blocked by whatever this was. Though that assumed her Grandfather would allow for her to utilize his tools (he did not seem to be in a terribly helpful mood). It also risked her having to find out how a man like that spent his time. There had to be another option.

She looked at the hourglass, whose sand still jerked backwards, and frowned. Who else found people, other than Assassins? And past that, who could be quicker but just as accurate about it?

It was a tall order. To do that, they'd need... Magic.

Susan got out of bed and grabbed her coat.

* * *

"Alright, so that's the basic setup," Teatime explained, brightly.

And he was happy, truly, for the first time that day. His reward for staying put all day was to be allowed down to the main dining hall to fill his own plate (a shockingly meager amount, as far as the wait staff was concerned). It meant a great deal, oddly even more than the brand new stealth chessboard

"Think you're ready for a game?" He asked. He practically bounced with excitement.

"I, er.." Ponder gave a concerned look down at the Assassin piece. For a piece of painted wood, it was strangely intimidating off in its own board space. "I believe so."

Teatime motioned to let Ponder take the first move, and then a second later followed it up with his own. The game continued on for a period, with helpful hints here and there but otherwise smooth.

"Don't focus so much on the Assassin," Teatime chided, eyes still on the board.

Ponder wasn't looking down, anymore. "Assassin..." he repeated, hollowly.

"They're almost all always played for distraction, and..."

"No.  _Assassin_ ," Ponder hissed, more urgently. "There's one in the window!" He lifted his hand to point, but a fierce look forced him to bring it back down and moved a piece instead.

"Don't act like you've seen him. Watch, but keep playing," Teatime instructed. His voice was close to a calm instructor as he could manage. Being Teatime, his intensity kept that from being very close at all. "Is he readying a weapon?"

"He's just looking around..." Ponder said as he huddled down to pretend that he was focused on the board.

"Then he's just looking," Teatime said, brighter, as he collected a piece with a cheerful 'click'. "An Assassin who's let himself be seen like that is just scouting and wants people to know it." He paused and added, "Or he's on contract and an idiot. But it's easy to catch an idiot."

"Don't you... ah... want to turn and see...?"

"Because he's most likely looking for me." Teatime tilted his head, ever so slightly. "You really think should I turn and reveal my most distinguishing feature?" he asked, his voice slightly sharp.

Ponder suddenly had the feeling that shrinking back would be a bad idea. "I er... I didn't... Your... Your hair...?"

"My outfit counteracts that," Teatime explained. He vaguely motioned to the day clothes as he took his next turn. "If I were looking for an Assassin, there's a good chance I'd overlook someone dressed like me as well. Though, thinking like that, I won't in the future." He hummed, happily, as if Assassin in anything but black was that much of a unique idea. Which, to be fair, certainly seemed to be the case.

"Why would, ah..."

"They want to find me?"

Ponder nodded.

"Didn't tell them where I'd be recovering, and I was rather plain that I didn't want to be followed. I hoped they'd respect that, but... It doesn't appear to be the case, now." He kept eye contact as he knocked out another piece. "Not a lot of groups get along with wizards, after all, most especially from my line of work. Consider them dangerous. Didn't you know that?"

"I... er... I wouldn't consider myself  _dangerous_..."

"Oh, you're exceedingly dangerous," Teatime corrected with a smile. "As opposed to some I know. Or... Probably knew, at this point."

"And... that's a good thing?" he asked, his voice more hopeful than he wanted it to be. But that stare would be so nice to break...

"Depends how you use it. Is he still there?"

Ponder had nearly forgotten about the Assassin. "No, he's gone."

Teatime's grip on him seemed to dissipate in a second as he casually returned to his food.

Ponder looked around the room in shocked relief. Everyone was still alive, well, and seemingly completely oblivious to what had nearly just happened. Probably for the best. That didn't say a great deal about the senior faculty's senses, though.

"Your move."

"Oh, yes, right." He looked down and winced at the sheer number of pieces that had been taken out in his distraction. He gave Teatime's giggling a roll of the eyes as he moved to retake his ground.

* * *

The lights were on at the Unseen University. That was a good sign. Though, to be fair, Susan couldn't remember a time where the lights had ever been completely off either. Certainly never in the building that seemed to be fully active at all times of day, just as it was lit up then..

That'd be enough, she figured. At least they would know where to find the Archchancellor... or at least have a clue when a man that old might generally be awake.

A student answered her knock at the heavy, wooden door. When he saw it was a single woman standing there, he looked terribly confused and muttered a 'just a moment' before he shut the door again. There was some panicked conversation on the other side. Susan had quite expected one of the elderly sorts to open it back up, and was taken aback by the second man who didn't look much different than the first.

He seemed awfully familiar, though. From the look on his face, and particularly the way he paled, he thought the same of her.

"You're... you're De-"

"Not tonight, I'm not," she corrected. "Tonight I'm just looking for Mr Ridcully." She thought better of it, and quickly added, "On a strictly speaking basis."

"Er... I-I don't think I can just..."

"It's very important," she stressed, "I only need-"

"Susan!"

The two of them froze at the far too cheerful tone. Before either could react further, Teatime was between them. He leaned, in mock casualness, against the door frame in a way that blocked as much of Ponder as he could.

Susan composed herself. "Mr Teatime."

"Really now, this is how we're going to start?" Teatime asked. "And here I thought you'd be happy to see me."

Ponder laughed, nervously "Y-you really shouldn't-"

Teatime held up a hand to stop him.

"We are not friends," she said, just as forcefully.

"I like you."

"You tried to kill me!"

"You  _did_  kill me," Teatime replied with a laugh. "It's a rather intimate affair that should bring two people closer, don't you think?"

"She's-" Ponder tried to interject, with a wild hand motion towards Susan.

"If you could stop being a personified headache for  _two seconds_..."

"That's not very polite for a babysitter to say."

"B-but..."

"You're going to die!" Susan cried in exasperation. "We need to talk."

"What?" Teatime's face became far more serious. "Is this about the Assassin that was spying-"

"Y-you need to-"

"He needs to hear me out," Susan snapped, with a hard stare at Ponder. When Teatime bristled, she turned the look back to him, "Come and talk to me for five minutes. That's all."

Teatime made a show of how he looked her over and weighed his options, but straightened up from the doorframe. "Five minutes."

As he moved to follow after her, Ponder grabbed his arm. "She's  _Death_."

"Death's granddaughter. It's different," Teatime corrected, calmly. "Stay inside and away from the windows." He moved Ponder back a few paces and shut the door behind him.


	10. Chapter 10

Teatime analyzed the rooftops for a long while, his face firm with concentration. With a quick 'this way', he darted off to a side building.

Susan started to follow, until it got her that his plan was to take her into a building nobody else knew she'd entered. And, with the curtains he now lowered, nobody would see what happened in there, either.

Seemingly oblivious to any sort of issues, he looked back out in confusion. "Are you really this slow?"

"You can't expect me to just go into a building alone with you, and-?!"

"That's be dull," Teatime replied, as if it were obvious and shame on her for not understanding that already. When she still hesitated, he added, "Whyever you know what's going on, I'd think being seen together would make things much worse."

"I'm not sure it would make things worse, necessarily," She said. Though, it would certainly confirm a few things in the mind of the Guild. So, she had to weigh which was worse...

"Your five minutes are ticking away, you know."

Susan took a deep breath and headed in. The door immediately shut behind her. A moment later Teatime was seated at the table to light a candle. Orange flickers danced across his glass eye.

"Well," Susan said from her position as far across the small room as she could manage. "I suppose being here explains how you were revived."

"The rules don't tend to apply to wizards," he replied. "But you'd know all about that, wouldn't you?"

"You give me far too much credit."

"I don't think I give you enough." He rested his chin on his fist. "Now, why is the Guild after me?"

She had gone over how to phrase this in her head a few dozen times, to try and make things go better than they had in the Guild Master's office. All she'd decided, after all that work, was that she probably couldn't.

"I was looking for the sword." Susan began.

His brow twitched downward.

"And, when searching for it didn't work out, I found out that you weren't dead. I searched for you the traditional way."

"What's the traditional way?"

"A way that didn't work out," she said, in a forceful manner that shut down any more questions. "I was running out of time, and I'd gone through all my options, so-"

"So you asked the Guild?"

"Yes."

"And... you told them I had it" he pressed.

"That you might know where it is."

Teatime's stare became more intense as things began to slide into place.

"To be fair, I'm sure that you do."

"Yes, but you saying it in guarded terms like that implies that it was stolen," he said. "Disarming an opponent and using that weapon against them is  _not_  theft. It's good strategy."

"Doesn't that mean you need to stop possessing it, once you're no longer fighting someone?"

"Maybe I'm not done," Teatime said, dangerously.

Susan forced herself not to react, and took more than a bit of pride in how annoyed that seemed to make him.

"Maybe if you stopped being stubborn and just gave me back the sword, since by your own standards you shouldn't have it anymore, I can smooth this over."

"Won't work."

"If me not having it started all this, me having it again and calling off the search should finish it."

"You can't unring the bell. Far as the Guild is concerned, every minute I'm alive is another rumor spreading around society." Teatime took some paper and began to calculate. "May as well just keep the sword, then, if I'm going to die for it anyway."

"You won't have to die for this." When he looked up at her, unimpressed, she added, "Again, I mean. I can be incredibly persuasive."

"I've noticed."

"I'll just lean into their theory that it's a lover's spat," she said.

It didn't feel good to say, but it felt better to see him nearly drop his pen.

"They... think we're-?"

"Lord Downey had a hard time thinking of another reason I'd want to meet with an Assassin without also wanting someone dead," she explained.

"He must have been so disappointed you slept below your rank like that," He laughed for a moment, but returned to his calculating. "It still won't work."

Susan could see listings of various countries, and numbers charted out below them. Prices for carriages and housing. "You're just going to run? I would have thought someone like you would have a plan to fight. You certainly had one for everything else."

"I'm down to the clothes on my back and what money I have on hand. The smartest move is to get as far out of town as I can."

"Don't the Assassins avoid the Unseen University, though? Seems like your smartest move is to stay here and at least see if things will cool down."

"Too risky," he said, and absently added, "Collateral damage."

Susan's eyebrow raised. "Collateral damage?"

Teatime ignored her and folded up his paper.

"You tried to take over the world."

"Hypothetically."

"That's not the behavior of someone who cares much about who gets hurt in the crossfire."

Teatime also looked rather confused that he'd said it. After a pause, he smoothed the last fold with a definitive swipe, and stuffed the paper into his pocket.

"Unless," Susan mused, "It's very specific collateral damage you're concerned about."

"Of course not," he said. The slight vibrato was back, and just as quickly gone again. "I just don't need to start a Guild war and make the target on my back any bigger." He could feel her sorting things out, and roughly asked, "Are you this nosey with all your charges?"

"When I have to be," she said. "I'm a very effective babysitter, if you hadn't noticed. You know my plan makes the most sense. Not even for my sake." She motioned, vaguely, towards the High Energy Magic Building. "If you run, you'll look guilty. And then anyone who harbored you..."

For a moment, Teatime seemed as if he'd be sick. He steeled himself as he stood up to full height, which was shockingly effective considering the light clothing amplified his slightness. And then he was gone. The door to the building hung open into the night.

Susan wasn't sure if he was still human. But then, with the way he moved, she wasn't sure he'd been entirely human to begin with. He certainly gave her a headache like one, though.

Hopefully the next time she was forced into a job like this, it was an immortal-only affair.


	11. Chapter 11

His heart had begun to pound as he equipped himself. Each knife slid into the exact spot where it could do its best work. The go-to's were where they could be most easily grabbed. The intimidators were where they could be most flashily unsheathed. And the last resorts he kept in places which were unlikely to be searched, and yet accessable with limited mobility.

There was ample room for everything as he'd worn his best coat to the Hogfather job. He'd paired it with his quietest winter boots, his best chainmail, and his most breathable silk. The trip to the apartment had gotten him a few more things, a couple changes of clothes most notably. But weight had been a particular concern so he hadn't taken much past that.

Considering his apartment was already being staked out, and who knew what tampering had been done while the other Assassin had been watching Bob, everything he'd left behind was best considered a lost cause. His files were probably already confiscated, his personal effects had probably already been sorted through...

At the moment, the biggest loss was the violin. A traveling musician moved without much questioning, and made good money while doing so. The second part was especially important. Even though the commission had been beyond his dreams, he'd only taken a small portion of it on hand. The rest had been sent to his now heavily monitored, and inaccessible, bank account.

He'd head West. A person could pick up a decent instrument on the cheap in Quirm.

At least, he'd heard. He'd never traveled, and the prospect of leaving Ankh-Morpork in general was daunting. The idea of never seeing it again was... Very oddly upsetting, but there would be time to get rid of that feeling in the carriage. There were certainly plenty others he'd be working on...

"Don't you have a few more days?"

The only thing that stayed Teatime's hand was a lifetime of training that one should never stab before they knew exactly who they were stabbing. He did feel free to pick his largest knife to not stab with, though.

It said a lot for Ridcully's experience with assassination attempts that he could stand it down, and calmly tell him "Put it away."

Not sure whether he was more respectful to the nerve or order, Teatime complied.

"You know you're only going to last a week, at best, if you don't finish up."

"Then I'll find a witch in a week," He said as he returned to packing.

"No, what'll happen is you'll get as far as Pseudopolis. Maybe. The nicest thing you'll hope to wake up to is someone cutting your throat. And, if you're especially lucky, they won't poison that mouse of yours."

"Rat."

"Exceedingly lucky, then."

"Bob is staying." Teatime said, stiffly, as he fitted the messenger bag on his shoulder. "She's doing well here."

"You're doing fine yourself. You should stay put, at least to finish healing."

He hooked the sheathed sword to his belt. "Been talking to Ms Sto Helit, then?"

"Well, yes. She always does stop by for a chat," Ridcully said. "But I do think it's for the best that you stay around for a bit longer. So I'm going to ask you nicely to unpack."

"And if I refuse?" Teatime asked. He started to go for a different pocket than the first knife had disappeared into.

The empty coat fell to the ground in a woosh of fabric, a clinking of chainmail, and a clatter of an excessive amount of weapons. As everything settled, a small lump forced its way to the edge. It revealed itself to be a heavily-panting one-eyed frog, who'd only just managed to avoid being impaled by a dozen knives.

Ridcully scooped it up, and held tight enough to keep the slippery body in place. "Then I'll suggest you take some time to reconsider." He drew a quick line over the frog's forehead before he passed the glaring, struggling animal off to the Lecturer in Recent Runes. "Put him by the pond."

He glanced down at another lump that moved around the coat, and added, "And send for Lord Downey. I want a word."

To the sound of a resigned, and retreating, frog sigh, Ridcully fished carefully around the empty clothing. The lump there evaded him, best it could, but there was only so much room.

"Aha," Ridcully said as he pulled the glass ball out, firmly clamped in his hand.

He turned it over a few times, as it struggled to get free, before he shut one eye and peered through it with the other.

"Ah... So that's how you do it." Ridcully slipped the ball into a sack and cinched it shut before the ball could do anything about it.

* * *

Susan had been shuffled off to the Archchancellor's office, and given some tea to sit quietly.

Considering she felt comfortable touching nothing, or really even sitting next to it, she was very relieved to see Ridcully come in. The feeling doubled when she saw that he had the sword with him, no worse for wear it seemed. Maybe even a bit better, actually. It seemed to have been polished.

"Thank you so much-"

When she reached for it, Ridcully placed it on the desk.

"I think," he said, and tapped the hilt. "The fair charge for collecting this is to explain exactly what's been going on this past week."

Susan nodded. "I suppose that's rather fair, at this point." She settled in a bit more, as Ridcully poured himself a cup. "Well, it was the night before Hogswatch..."


	12. Chapter 12

Teatime had never learned anything about frogs, other than that they existed and made an awful lot of noise around ponds. It was an oversight, however small, and on some level he could appreciate the crash course.

The first lesson was that a single slit of a pupil on a frog was roughly as useful as a tiny dot for a human. The second was that frogs very, very much depended on their eyesight.

This was made all the more problematic in a University that bred crows, and attracted snakes and cats and a whole score of predators who'd eat a frog if they ever found one. The third lesson was that this could describe any animal that had managed to survive in Ankh-Morpork.

Teatime managed to find himself a low-hanging bush, and settled into the mud under it. That would do until the spell wore off, which couldn't be terribly long. He hoped.

* * *

The sound of ants rushing through the glass tubing was an oddly comforting one. It got better when it was joined by a steady scratch of a quill, and the faint hum from the room full of bees. It meant that everything was working properly.

Ponder focused on that as he steadily sorted the bits of text that Hex had printed out. It was certainly better than thinking about how he'd sent Death off with one man, especially when she was pointedly looking for another. This was a Granddaughter, though, whatever that was worth. Jonathan had been incredibly insistent that he be allowed to go.

It was the first time he'd ever felt trapped in the HEM. And while it seemed terribly important that he stay exactly where he was, for safety and privacy reasons, he couldn't being himself to accept that it actually was the right thing to have done.

When Hex took one of its regular breaks, so it wouldn't overheat from the complicated spellwork, Ponder grabbed the ear trumpet.

"Hex, give me all the information you have on Death. The er... The entity."

Ponder waited as Hex whirred about, and then read what the quill began to write. His brow pulled down, and he grabbed the trumpet again.

"Hex, I said  _Death_ , not  _Hogfather_." He sighed. Hex had certainly become more bizarre with garbage readouts. But, at the same time, those words sounded nothing alike. Perhaps he'd do another diagnostic on the input. "Cancel. Give me all the information you can find on Death's granddaughter. Name: Susan."

Hex began to whir again.

* * *

Ridcully's attention span was notoriously terrible, but Susan was well versed in working around things like that. She guided, and occasionally forced, him through the period between her Grandfather showing up dressed as the Hogfather and the actual Hogfather's regeneration. And then, briefly, she outlined the tribulation associated with fetching the sword.

His comprehension seemed to ebb and flow, unless the story distinctly brought up Teatime. In particular, he seemed fascinated with the fact that she couldn't track him.

Susan readjusted at the newly contemplative look. "Do you have a theory?" She asked.

"Hm... Maybe. Anyway, go on."

"That's about all there is to tell," she admitted. "Not that it might matter at all, really. Everything's been put back to normal, and he's probably long gone by now."

"I have a feeling he may be sticking around for a while," Ridcully said, thoughtfully.

"Are you sure? He seemed rather adamant..."

"Things change," he told her. "Now, about when you met him before. How did he act? Erratic?"

"That's a word for it... Illogical more, I would think. He bounced about a lot, his affect was wrong, and, when he was hanging off me... I don't think he bothered to understand that he was going to fall even when he  _was_  falling."

"And now?"

"He could certainly stay still longer than he managed in the tower. And the affect fit. So I suppose... better?" She frowned, heavily. "Still a pest of a man, though."

Ridcully stroked his beard for a moment as he thought.

A pouch, containing a rather prominent lump, began to move across the desk. Ridcully slammed a hand down on it and stuffed it into a drawer.

"That sounds about right," he finally muttered to himself. He looked back at her. "You only needed the sword, then?"

Susan nodded, hesitantly. "Yes," She agreed. "Is... Mr Teatime is a very dangerous person, whatever he's made you think. Even the Assassins seem to think so. He really does need to be contained."

"Don't worry about that," he said, as he handed her the sword and stood to usher her out. "I'll have someone walk you to the front gate. We're going to have some visitors that I'm sure are planning to come in the back."

* * *

When light began to stream in the windows, Ponder decided that he'd waited quite long enough for a five minute conversation to be done. He gave the dozing Bob a scratch, and left the building.

He checked Teatime's room which was, in the most generous of senses, on his way to breakfast. Aside from a messenger bag full of clothes, spare weaponry, and a money pouch, the room was empty. He couldn't have left without that, so he was at least still in town. Most likely still on the UU grounds.

At the Library, which was also generously on the way, the Librarian shruggingly insisted that he hadn't seen him. Back past the empty out-buildings, once more in the HEM, and finally he entered the Great Hall. With the menu the Archhancler picked, the Great Hall at breakfast was normally the longest shot to find someone. But Teatime hadn't been around long enough to know that yet, so Ponder felt justified in being annoyed he wasn't there either.

He settled in with a bowl of porridge to pour over Hex's output and think. According to the readings, Susan didn't look right for being... being what she could be. It seemed rather questionable that she could collect his soul at this point without the help of the sword.

It made him shudder a little to think of how casually he'd handled it. Of course, at the time he'd thought he'd been incredibly cautious. But, reading what it could do...

Jonathan had clearly known all about that. But, moreover, he was so stubborn. He wouldn't have just handed it over, even if it was just a regular weapon. But, there, it said that she had a VOICE (in capitals, for whatever reason) that made people do as she said. So maybe...

Or would she have used a scythe? Did she even have one? He hadn't see it, and he'd certainly looked. But maybe it could shrink for easy transport? Could she do that?

"Good morning," Ponder said, absently, as he continued to read.

"Is that boy not back yet?" The Lecturer in Recent Runes asked as he sat down with his own bowl.

"No, that's what I'm..." Ponder looked up. "What do you mean 'back'?"

"Archchancellor turned him into a frog to calm him down hours ago," he explained, in the matter-of-factness wizards reserved specifically for something as mundane as transforming someone into a frog. "Usually wears off within a half hour. And they're absolutely starving because they refuse to eat flies." He began to stir honey into his porridge. "He'd best work at changing back soon, though. The crows will be up by now."

When he looked up from his bowl, Ponder was already gone.

* * *

Lesson... was it eighteen, at this point?

Lesson whatever-it-was was that crows were absolute bastards.

Lesson six and seven, respectively, had been that frogs needed to keep their skin moist which somehow connected to how well they were able to breathe. The mud helped some, but what he really needed was to get into the pond.

Only between that and him were a batch of crows who chattered (actually chattered, unless he was hallucinating) incessantly about finding a frog to eat. Frog eyes in particular. And, even if his remaining one was rather useless, he had no intention of letting them take it.

His skin had started to become painfully dry, and his breathing came out more labored.

Suddenly, the crows flew off in an irritably panicked mass, and Jonathan made a break for it. The few hops between the bush and pond seemed like a marathon, but the relief upon hitting the water was instant and amazing.

There was more when he surfaced to see a green-grey blob that searched about the bushes. When he hopped out, and croaked at it expectantly, it scooped him up with a far more delicate grip than had previously been used.

"There you are! I was worried, with the crows and..." Ponder pushed Teatime's head down by the nose to look at the symbol. "Oooh... no wonder you can't change back."

Teatime croaked, irritably.

"Er... He's put a blocking rune on you. And since you're so weak in this form, you won't be able to break out of it."

Another croak of 'why don't you just take it off?'

"See, er, this line here means..."

Ponder's attention turned away, and Teatime was held tighter to the robe. He could hear the vibrations of a racing heartbeat, and Teatime did his best to peek through the fingers.

Black blobs that moved as a disciplined unit. The Assassins had arrived.

"It's safer for you to stay like this for now," Ponder muttered. "Come on, I'll get you some cleaner water at least."

Teatime settled into the hand that kept him tucked against the chest. It was comforting, in a bizarre sort of way, to be shielded like that. But...

Lesson nineteen was that Ponder had most definitely earned himself the right to be considered unwanted collateral damage.

Lesson nineteen, amendment A, was that Susan was never, ever, to be told that she'd been right about that.


	13. Chapter 13

Ankh-Morpork ran itself on intimidation and force, for those times when money and connections wasn't sufficient to get the job done. When a person reached a level at which the latter were rarely insufficient, they were expected to at least be courteous about utilizing the former.

As one of the oldest and most influential groups in the city, the Assassins Guild was expected to embody this ideal. And, as Master of Assassins, Lord Downey was expected to embody the Guild. He took this to heart, and had earned a reputation as one of the most soft-spoken and dangerous leaders in the city.

That danger was mitigated quite a bit in the Unseen University, though, where even mid-level students were plenty deadly themselves. In response, Downey came flanked by men who looked more like mountains than Assassins. Doubtlessly they were likely significantly less deadly than Downey himself, but they had the presence to seem like they'd take a lot more time and pain about the whole affair. It earned them wide berth as they headed inside, and then up to Ridcully's office.

"You got yourself some new boys, eh, Daniel?" Ridcully said, as he ushered Downey inside and left the two behind to man the door. "Certainly not the scrawny models your Guild is so fond of."

"Could say the same of the young man we passed coming in," Downey replied, lightly, as he took his seat. "Quite a twig compared to the modern wizard."

"Takes all kinds."

"It does."

"Speaking of your boys, seems some of them were crawling all over my University last night." His eyes burned a bit. "We have agreements about these sorts of things. Unless you're  _trying_  to pick a fight."

Downey held up his hand. "We were performing surveillance of the whole area. It would have been irresponsible not to include the University."

"If surveillance were all they were up to, there would have been a messenger. It's been done before." He leaned forward, his stare hard. "What -no, who, in your case- were you looking for?"

* * *

Susan moved, unnoticed, through the early morning crowd. If she hurried, she'd be able to make it back in time to make something for the children's breakfast. If she were particularly lucky, she might be able to do it without anyone noticing that she'd been gone. Of course, if she manipulated things a bit she could turn that into a guarantee. But she'd had more than enough of that for a while, thank you very much.

There always seemed to be someone listening, whenever she thought things like that. Maybe Fate. Her Grandfather had said he was a particular pest about this sort of thing. Regardless any time she felt ready to just settle down into her life, someone or some _thing_  would come for a visit. She could nearly set her watch to it.

That day, it was Binky. The horse stood patiently outside the door, and seemed to motion for her to get on.

"He can wait a few minutes," she said, plainly.

Binky's ears flicked with a parental sort of disapproval.

"He could have gotten the sword at any time, he can wait a few more minutes. I have responsibilities here."

The horse didn't look convinced, as if it knew better than she did that the food could be cooked at any time at all and be on the table exactly when it was supposed to be. But he moved to nibble at what shoots of grass peeked out of the snow.

Susan headed inside, put the sword down, and began to cook.

As she began to assemble her ingredients, thoughts of the children getting ahold of the sword began to run through her head. That they'd see it as a toy. Even more likely, Gawain would know exactly what it was and do anything he could to unsheath it. And, if and when they cut themselves...

Susan grabbed the sword, headed back outside, and swung herself onto Binky's back.

"Don't start."

Binky trotted off.

* * *

The pond smelled like death. Even with what precious little olfactory sense a frog had, Teatime could tell that much. It must have been filled with it, then, and for a very long time.

He wondered if Ponder had contributed to it. Even if he hadn't, at the very least he had to know exactly what went on. Maybe not being directly involved was why he refused to see the threat he himself posed. Possible, definitely, and Teatime would have to press about it when he was able to speak again. For the moment, though, he just enjoyed having a clean bowl of water and a place to sit that wasn't either mud or a risk for crow attack. 

Ponder, now unwilling to let Teatime out of his sight, brought him into his office as he worked at lesson plans. Very much the plural, it seemed, as he had multiple piles and muttered about a wide array of topics.

At a croak, Ponder explained, "I'm teaching three classes that had... Vacancies. It's basically at my breaking point now, but I enjoy it. Just wish the grading wasn't as awfully time-consuming. I've been trying to get Hex to help with some of it, but he's... It's awful at reading papers. It ah... Essentially started life as one of these," he said, and motioned to an abacus. "Makes it tough to read, I suppose."

Teatime, after a moment of thinking through, hopped down and headed across the desk. Ponder pulled his hand back from the abacus as Teatime moved the pieces, with some difficulty, into a 1-4 pattern.

Ponder chewed on the end of his pen. "So... If I could reduce test answers to a series of numbers instead... That might just work." He wrote down a note on a pad to the side. "I'll look into it."

Teatime croaked that he could also look into removing the block.

"I told you, I can't remove a personalized block. You'll just have to wait for the Archchancellor."

Another croak that was oddly effective as a 'can't or won't?'

"A little of both. Even if the magic would allow me to do it, it'd be a slap in the face that wouldn't end well. For either one of us."

He didn't want to translate the next croak.

"You're just hungry. I can get some mealworms..."

Teatime headed back to the bowl in a huff.

"I'm sure they can't be that bad," Ponder said as he helped him back up. "Otherwise you'll just have to wait."

Teatime settled, in no mood to be experimental but plenty fine with being stubborn.

"Suit yourself, then."

* * *

Lord Downey was very used to the pressure other community leaders tried to exert, but very rarely considered it convincing. Nobody could really touch the Guild, normally, but Wizards were anything but normal. Ridcully was the furthest they had.

He considered his options, and finally replied, "We're looking for a Client. A rather evasive and dangerous one, so we need to do a thorough survey of the city."

"Threat to the Guild's reputation, is he?"

"I was going to say community safety."

'Top priority." Ridcully sat back. "Well, then. Best to tell me what he looks like so I can keep an eye out."

"We've already searched..."

"Tell me anyway. What can it hurt to have extra eyes?"

He frowned, indignantly. "Assassins have plenty of-"

"Just a few basic things. Like, say, if he was a pale and stringy thing, even for an Assassin. Maybe with blond curls, and two poor excuses for eyes. I might just see him around."

Lord Downey suddenly looked very tired.

"Just as a hypothetical, Old Boy."


End file.
